


Mirrors.

by Roughbunny



Category: jacksepticeye
Genre: Antisepticeye Sean McLoughlin, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Fear, Horror, Knives, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Mirrors, Phobias, Psychological Horror, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24361651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roughbunny/pseuds/Roughbunny
Summary: How real can stress induced pain be? How far can it go? Is the pain even real? Or is he just going crazy?
Relationships: Sean McLoughlin/Sean McLoughlin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Mirrors.

**Author's Note:**

> stole that from my main ao3 acc bc... yeah.

Everytime Seán looks at his own reflection in a mirror, it feels off. It’s not his face, or his disheveled hair in the morning. It just feel as if he was looking at a picture, as if the reflection in front of him could start moving on its own anytime. It’s an odd feeling, has happened for as long as he can remember. 

He used to fear looking in the mirror, used to have nightmares about his own reflection attacking him, trying to kill him. 

He never talked about it to anyone, the fear of being sent to some asylum stronger than his fear of mirrors, which tempered down with the years. 

The nightmares stopped too, or weren’t as recurrent as they had been when he was a child. And it’s not like it was anything more than stupid real life anxiety induced nightmares, right?

Even though it was always the same scenario, where his reflection would jump out of the mirror, holding a knife, neck cut...which, when Seán thinks about it, is the biggest proof this is not real, nobody can survive a cut that deep. 

Seán has never made it to after that scene, always waking up with a loud scream, body drenched in sweat and trembling. 

But it’s all gone now, he spends peaceful nights, he doesn’t fear his reflection anymore. 

So, why does his brain tell him something is wrong? Why does he feel, deep down, like something is just not where it should be? 

Why does his throat suddenly hurt everytime he talks? 

And it doesn’t hurt like a sore throat does, no, he had to check multiple times during the day to see if there’s a cut, to see if he’s bleeding, because his skin is stinging and he feels cold. 

He fears watching at his own reflection again, because he’s afraid of what he might see, even though it’s crazy and stupid. It’s totally unreal. He just needs to go to the doctor and get some medication. Everything will be alright. 

Nothing will be alright. The medication he’s been on for a week doesn’t help, and he feels like he’s losing his voice. 

Should he have feared mirrors for longer? Is he just going totally crazy? Or is it just a phase? Maybe it’s just a phase, maybe he just needs to see a therapist. He’s been quite stressed these last few months. 

Yes, that’s it, just some deep phobias coming back up, because he must be feeling vulnerable. 

The nightmares come back, stronger than ever, realer than ever. Not only does he wake up screaming and drenched in sweat, but he feels like he can’t breathe, and a blood taste feels up his mouth, but when he goes to spit it out, nothing but saliva stains the sink. The taste lingers until he brushes his teeth, scrubs his tongue with the toothbrush and drinks a full bottle of water. 

“What the fuck…” 

Seán has more and more difficulties convincing himself that it’s all just in his head, and it’s all due to stress. Stress shouldn’t taste like blood in his mouth. Stress shouldn’t hurt his throat like a deep cut would. 

Like a deep cut would? 

Where does this thought even come from? It’s not like he would know how much a deep cut hurts. He dreamed about it, sure, but...it was just a dream. A quite recurring dream but still only a dream. 

Taking a week off seems like a good idea for the time being. Get well deserved rest. All he has to do is prepare enough videos to last a week, so the viewers won’t notice anything wrong. 

But talking has been a struggle those last few days, and screaming doesn’t even come into the equation. 

They will notice something. He can just say he’s been feeling sick, everyone is allowed to feel sick. 

He does it past one video before the pain becomes unbearable and he’s clutching at his throat as if he was suffocating, his mouth feeling with the taste of blood, but again, when he wants to spit it out...Nothing. 

Absolutely nothing. 

He stares at his own reflection, searching for any trace, any scar that could explain the pain, the blood...everything. 

T̷h̵e̸ ̵b̶l̵o̸o̵d̵,̶ ̸s̶t̴i̷c̵k̷y̵ ̶a̷n̸d̸ ̴w̸a̸r̴m̶, ̷s̴l̸i̵d̶i̶n̶g̷ ̵o̵v̸e̶r̶ ̴t̸h̶e̷ ̵e̵d̶g̸e̷ ̴o̷f̷ ̷a̵ ̷s̵h̵a̷r̵p̵e̸n̶e̶d̷ ̷k̶n̶i̴f̵e̸

Nothing out of the ordinary, except that lingering off feeling he has when looking at his neck, maybe the apprehension that something might happen if he stared for too long. 

“I’m just gonna go...sleep. Sleep sounds nice.” 

He says to himself as he walks to his bedroom. He feels eyes on him when he walks out of the bathroom, but when he turns to look back...nothing. There is never anything wrong, he’s just tired. 

A̶n̶d̴ ̴t̶h̶e̶ ̸k̴n̸i̴f̷e̸ ̵d̵a̷n̶c̶e̵s̶ ̶s̵o̷ ̶e̸a̶s̵i̵l̴y̷ ̸o̴v̸e̸r̸ ̷t̴h̶e̸ ̸s̵o̶f̵t̸ ̶s̴k̶i̸n̶,̵ ̸j̴u̵s̴t̶ ̶a̷ ̷l̷i̶t̵t̷l̶e̸ ̷m̴o̶r̵e̶ ̵p̴r̶e̵s̷s̸u̶r̷e̷...

The night goes on smoothly. 

* * *

The day, in comparison, is filled with more bizarre experiences, more pain, and an unexplained thickness in his mouth, like his tongue is suddenly too big. 

Maybe it’s an allergy? This has to be it, this has to explain the pain and the weird taste in his mouth. 

But as always, the doctors don’t see anything wrong, Seán’s body is healthy, and he didn’t react positively to any of the possible allergies they tested. 

He’s definitely going crazy and they’ll soon send him to a mental hospital. 

But he can’t allow himself to dread his own reflection, not when he has to get ready, not when he has a life to attend to. 

The day is like any other day, or any other day Seán has spent since this whole neck pain appeared. He tries to drink the pain away with hot tea, hot coffee, hot milk...hot anything by the end of the day, takes painkillers, spreads soothing cream, thinks about eating the cream too, doesn’t do it. 

Nothing soothes the pain, nothing makes the blood and the thickness go away, and from the outside, everything looks normal. 

T̵h̶e̷ ̵b̵l̵o̸o̵d̵ ̸s̴t̵a̸i̷n̵s̶ ̶t̶h̵e̷ ̴w̷o̸u̴n̴d̶,̸ ̷f̵a̵l̸l̵i̵n̵g̶ ̷i̵n̶ ̷s̷m̶a̷l̵l̵ ̶r̶i̷v̵u̷l̸e̴t̴s̷,̷ ̷s̶m̶a̸l̶l̷ ̵d̸r̷o̷p̴s̶ ̶o̷n̶ ̸t̶h̷e̶ ̵w̵o̵o̸d̴e̶n̶ ̷f̸l̷o̷o̴r̷… 

But the feeling doesn’t disappear, because along with the pain, something terrifies him, and he doesn’t know what it is. 

He makes his way under the shower, maybe relaxing will clear his head, maybe he just needs to talk to someone, maybe everybody who is stressed has those kind of reactions. If it’s the case, it sucks, but at least, he won’t feel like he’s acting like a madman.

B̸u̸t̶ ̵h̵e̷ ̵d̷o̷e̶s̷n̸'̵t̸ ̶s̸e̵e̸ ̸i̴t̷,̶ ̶n̸o̴,̸ ̸n̸o̴,̷ ̷h̶e̶ ̴n̷e̴v̶e̴r̸ ̸s̴e̵e̷s̸ ̵a̸n̷y̵t̷h̴i̵n̵g̴,̵ ̶h̷e̸'̸s̴ ̸s̷o̷ ̴b̸l̶i̶n̸d̵,̷ ̴s̶o̷ ̴͙͚̥̓̃̈́F̸͈̲͇̮̘̤̍͛̈́̑̔͝Ŭ̷̱̳̯̔͋̈́̊C̷̺͐̍̆̄̈́Ḳ̷̤̐̂Ĩ̸̢̳̤͌̍̿̍̚͜N̴͔̽̓̔̅G̵̗͍̽̇͆̈́̚ ̸̜̌͋̚B̵̘̽͌́̔̀L̷̤̓I̴̡̳̗̻̾Ņ̵̮̯͚̽͆͋̇̕͝D̴̳͓̙͒̑̍̏̄͠

The shower does relax him, but it doesn’t help his problem, doesn’t clear his head, doesn’t make the pain go away. It’s dull, at this point, his own brain numbing the sensations, because no amount of medication is capable of doing the job. 

At least, he knows it’s not real. At least he’s not as scared as he was when he was a child. 

But maybe he should be. 

W̵̨̽͜ạ̵̒ṱ̷͎̕c̸͚̰͠h̶͈͌̀ ̴̨̽ǒ̸̖̥ű̸͙͝t̷͕̋̐,̸̦̰̚ ̶͍̈̉f̵̬̾̅o̷̫͒̕r̴̛̩̘ ̴̠̆̒t̷̯̰͝h̴̭̙́̐ė̷͎̮͛ ̴͚͒d̷̨̅a̷̤͈͌n̶̮̩̒͝ģ̵̖̚͘e̶̤̯̍r̸̢̡̈̔ ̶̞͛i̵͎̭̍s̶͈̞̚ ̴̯͓̌n̵͓̄e̶̪à̴͕͚̆r̷͚̾,̴̻͔̈ ̷̛͖̟̍w̶͕̖̏̈́a̵͎t̴̠̑͂c̶̼̾̿h̴͖̄ ̶͖̞̊͊o̷̖͋u̴̧̝͒͗t̸̗̭͝,̸̝̣̄ ̶̝͘͝f̶̜̜o̴͈͌r̷͕͕̒ ̶͙̣̒Ḭ̶̬̏́ ̴̻̲̅͘a̸̜̼͌͂m̶̖͋ ̷̦̮͒̈́h̷̜̗͛̀ȩ̴̞̑r̷̥͑̚e̶͉̥̍,̵̬̘͐̈́ ̶̳̑̿͜b̶̯̉̃u̵̢̢̅t̶̻̋ ̶̠̮͑̉h̸͍̃̏ě̷ͅ ̴̢̽̌ͅd̷̹͛͠o̷̳͊e̷͇͆͠s̷̖͖͝ň̵̲͓'̶͔̓̑t̸͕̦͛ ̶͇͖̒͆ş̴͓͌̃e̷̩̕ě̶͉ ̵̪̺̄ḯ̸̧t̴̼̲̒,̸͘͜ͅ ̵̮͆͆ȟ̸͔̥ȅ̵͈͜ ̴̢̪̎̀N̵̗͈͗̄E̵̱̥͌V̴̝̗͆͂E̴͓͒͂R̸̡̈͝ ̵̧͉̊̌s̵̮̮̓̋e̵͓̿͝ę̶̱͊s̷̘̭̓ ̵͖̪̄ȋ̴͇̮͛t̴͎̅̽.̷̤͊ ̴̡͊͜W̶̬͎͂Ḁ̸̾̍T̵͇͆C̷̢̟̃H̴̪̏ ̴̫̳͒Ŏ̸̞̮̂Ư̴̞͆T̵̬̿!̷̟̓

Seán closes his eyes, met with a soothing darkness, as the water slides over his naked body. It’s too hot to be comfortable, but at least he can’t let his mind wonder. 

When he gets dressed, he unconsciously avoids looking into the mirror. 

Ȃ̸͜n̵̞d̷͎͛ ̷̞̈́t̸̳̓ḧ̴̬e̶̳͂ ̸̨̉k̷͚̒ṋ̷̅i̴̖͆f̵̫̆ȩ̶̂ ̵̣̿s̶̙͝l̸͚̍ḯ̵̲d̷̡͆ě̴̫s̸͈̄ ̶͖̚s̵̩̓o̶͝ͅ ̷̬̂ḙ̸͘ą̸̍s̴̮̔i̴̯͆l̸̢͝y̵̮͌ ̶͓̾t̷̟̑ḩ̵͐r̵̼̓o̴̝̒ụ̷̆g̶͇ḫ̴͝ ̶͍̆ẗ̷̻́ḧ̵̠́e̵͖̿ ̵̫͠s̵̗̀k̴̥̾i̷̥̎ǹ̴͓,̴̎ͅ ̴͈̊l̸̗̔i̸̺̋k̵̻̔ê̷͚ ̵̲̐c̶̕͜ṷ̴̕t̸͎̄t̵̝͒i̶͕͆n̷͉g̸͕̓ ̵̜́t̶̬̊h̸̺̓r̶̡͑o̷͚̔u̴̝̾g̶̫͊ẖ̷̌ ̵̰̔b̷̲̿ǘ̵̢t̵͇̚t̸̬͆e̸̞͛r̶̦͝.̵͚̃ ̸̝͋B̸̤̓u̴͚͑t̷̻͂ ̶̖͝b̴̤̍ǘ̵̪t̴̠͐t̷͍̋ê̴̩r̵̼͌ ̴̮̎c̵̼̿ả̶͇n̵͚̈́'̸̮̀ṯ̶͊ ̷̳̄b̵͚̕l̶̞̕e̵͈̾e̵̺̅d̵̻.̷̢́.̴̩̈́.̵̟̑

Avoiding the mirror doesn’t stop the white pain that courses through his entire neck, as if someone sliced him in half. The feeling is insufferable, and his brain shuts down. 

▓̷̪͑▓̵̢̨̤̱̖̻͆̆͗̊̏͐▓̴̹͒̒̈́̉ỏ̷̯̫̠̈́̃̍̕ḋ̸̰̇̋͝▓̷̡̢͍̜̮̀̊̇̾̔̀ ̷̧͂͘ỉ̷̢̿̿̌́͘▓̵̠̰͎̣͓̤̀̂w̶̛̱̖̞̐̐̀̃▓̷̯̩͉̻͎̽̍̋͠▓̷̻̞͙̒̓͂͜͝͝▓̷̠̥̞͓͛̕▓̴͕͚̲̣̭͊͋̀͐͒̓

* * *

When he wakes up, his whole body aches. Probably from the fall he made when he collapsed. 

“This is it, I need help, that whole mental thing is getting physical, and it’s never a good sign.” 

It’s hard to admit, even harder to grab his phone to look for the nearest private therapist. Those are more expensive, but if it can make that whole craze cease, Seán would do anything. 

He calls through a whole lot of overbooked therapists, telling him they can take him for the year 2132 at 13 PM, before finally finding his jackpot in a Dr. Shirley Jefferson. 

“This is Dr. Jefferson’s cabinet, Jane speaking, what can I do to help you?”

Seán suddenly feels stupid for calling. Nobody would even believe him, nobody would want him to tell such dumb stories. 

“Hum...Can I...May I have an appointment with the doctor Jefferson? Is she...Does she have time this week? Or as soon as possible...it’s fine.” 

He hears shuffling, clicking, before the feminine voice resounds through the phone again.

“Would Thursday, 10 AM be alright for you?” 

“Yeah, perfect. So in two days… Let me just write it down!” 

Seán feels appeased, the stress of asking finally going away. 

“What’s your name?” She asks from the other side of the line. 

“Seán...Seán Mcloughlin. Like laugh but with an o… or do I need to spell it?” 

“No, it’s fine. The doctor will see you on Thursday.” 

“Thanks a lot.” 

The conversation ends here. and Seán exhales all of his worries. 

This is soon going to be a story of the past.

T̵̯̏h̸̲̑ḛ̶͗ ̴̹̐b̴̩͑l̵̡͒ȏ̷̰ơ̴̦d̵̼͗ ̶̠̎p̷̙̈́o̵̞͛o̵̟͗ḷ̸͝ṡ̵̺ ̶͚̆a̸̱͝r̸͍̆ǒ̶͎u̵̥̕n̵̲̂d̸͎̍ ̵̰͝h̷̛̙î̷̺m̸̭̀ ̵̣̽o̴͙͗n̵̖̚ ̵͎͗t̸̟̀h̷̆͜e̸̖͋ ̷͎̋f̵̫̆l̵̛͜o̴͉̾o̸͔͝r̶̬̊,̴͍̽ ̴̬͊a̵̛̰n̴̠̾d̶̘͆ ̵̥̾n̸̺̄ơ̴̙ ̸͍͋a̶̙̽m̶̗̂o̶̞͑u̷̥̔n̷̽͜t̸̨͋ ̸͔̚o̵̹͋f̷̥͐ ̵̢̿w̵̗̚o̸͈r̵̗d̴̬̓s̴̯͛,̴̻̐ ̶͈͑n̸̳͋o̷͕͘ ̵̝͝ȧ̴̰ṁ̶͍o̶̱u̸̼͂n̸̝͋t̸̬̽ ̴͈͆o̵̢͐f̷̮͆ ̸̬̈́r̴̡̈́ë̴̞́á̸͍s̶̹̏s̸̹̈u̵̖̕r̷̼̆a̶͍͌n̷̞̏ć̵͎ȇ̸̟ŝ̶̢ ̷̭̍ẃ̸̘i̷̖̊l̸͍͊ļ̵̂ ̵͍͠ŵ̸͔i̴̬͠p̸̟̈e̵͈̿ ̸̦̇i̷̖͛t̸̻̎ ̴̨͑é̴̯n̴̯t̷̺̏i̴͇͊r̷͙̓e̴̘̐l̷̗̽ẙ̵͔.̴̹͝ ̷̩̐

  
  


The building looks normal… Seán ignores why he was imagining it would be a massive futuristic building. He’s just projecting his worries again, it’s what he’s been doing on himself...that’s why it hurts. 

He pushes the glass door, immediately seeing the reception. A white, curved desk- The receptionist is hidden by a sort of shelf on top, where many flyers are displayed. 

“Hum, hello...I took an appointment with the doctor Jefferson... ?” 

“What’s your name?” She asks, and Seán recognizes the voice. Something about it reassures him. 

“Seán Mcloughlin. It was for 10 AM, I’m a bit early.” 

The woman nods, pointing at a door at the end of the corridor. 

“There’s a waiting room at the end of this corridor, you can wait there, the doctor will be there soon.” 

Seán nods, feeling his tongue get heavy the more he approaches the room, and he can’t tell if it’s because of the anxiety of talking to someone, or something completely different. 

N̴̙̽O̵̤̊ ̷̨͗a̸̡̒m̸̮̒o̷̢̽ŭ̷̧n̸̜̂t̵̰̀ ̸̜͝o̶͖͗f̶̥̉ ̸̠̿ẇ̷̪ȍ̸̢r̸̲͊d̵̠̉s̷̻͘,̵͎͘ ̸̒ͅṋ̴̊o̴̫̊ ̵̺̈́a̴͓͒m̷̻o̸̺͐u̴̩̓n̶̺̐ẗ̸͈́ ̵̜̉ò̵̝f̸̖̓ ̸͚̈́r̷̬͐e̷̪a̴̩̎s̸̗͗s̶̩̋ủ̶̙r̶̦͆a̵̝͋ṅ̶̮c̴̣͒e̴̲̎ṡ̷̺ ̶̥̉w̸̝͊ǐ̴͜l̷̯̈́l̵̼̎ ̵̠̂w̶̡̃i̵͎̽p̵̹̏e̵̞ ̸̣̀ḯ̵̗t̸͕̓ ̴̱͝e̸͓͋n̴͚͗t̴͇͝ỉ̵̟r̸̲͆ē̵̗l̸͍̚ẏ̷͇.̸͓͆ ̴̝͐

… 

“Mr. Mcloughlin? May you please come with me?” 

The doctor’s voice is soft, almost as if she was talking to a lost child. Seán finds that it doesn’t bother him at all. He finds it rather calming, and it helps alleviate the fear he held in him. 

They sit in a room, two chairs placed facing each other, and the doctor is holding a pad where a stack of paper is attached. 

Seán has no idea where to start. 

“My throat hurts, and I think it’s because there’s some unresolved...problems? in my life…” 

She nods. “Would you like to tell me where those problems come from?” 

“I’ve had nightmares...as a kid. Where my reflection would come to attack me with a knife… It started...I couldn’t say when it started, I was very young. I got so scared I couldn’t watch myself in a mirror.” 

Again, she nods, scribbles some words down. “Have you been bullied, or have you had any traumatic experiences in your childhood?” 

Seán has to think this one through for a few minutes, but nothing comes to his mind, so he shakes his head. “I’ve just been really stressed, so I thought that’s why the nightmares came back… but it’s not the worst part.”

“Tell me.” 

N̴͚̎ŏ̴̡ ̶̗ä̵̙́m̷͇̃o̸̹̓u̵̯̒n̵͔͘t̶͈͘ ̵̫̂o̶̲͑f̷̣̚ ̴̣́w̴͚̍o̷͓͌r̷͉̊d̷̬̄s̷̮̏.̷̣̋.̴͕.̵̖̐

“My neck hurts, as I’ve said earlier, and I have that weird...metallic, I’d like to say blood like taste in my mouth...I know it sounds weird, I swear I think I’m going crazy but...yeah.” 

w̷̻̉i̶͇͆l̶͖̾l̵̙͝ ̵̦͐b̶̤͊ẻ̸̗ ̷͇̆e̷̬̓n̷̞̕o̴̖̾u̶̝̐g̸̬͛h̶̤̋.̴̣͊.̴͚͛.̷̜͗

This time, she doesn’t nod, her pen hovering over the paper as she looks at him with a surprised face. 

“Blood…? Did you try to take any medication? Maybe you cut your tongue?” She tries to find a logical answer to that problem, which Seán already tried multiple times. 

“When I try to spit it out, nothing appears. It’s like I’m dreaming the taste but...it’s there.” 

t̸̤͛o̷̫̽ ̴͍̒w̵͍̿i̶̖̽p̸͉e̶̞͘ ̸̝̓t̶̙̔h̴̺̾e̴̥̿ ̷̢̑b̷̡̓l̶̩̾o̷̼͂ȯ̷̞ḏ̷̆ ̸̠̈s̷̞͊t̸̻̓a̵̛̞i̵̱̐n̶̖̔i̴̺̒n̶̻̏g̵̛͇ ̵̥ṭ̸͑h̸̢̐e̴̛̯ ̷̢̽w̴̜̅õ̸̢õ̵͉d̷̡͌è̸̼n̸͍̿ ̸̞̓f̴̰̄l̵̪̅o̴̟̎o̷̻͌r̸͈̊.̴͉͆

“I see. Let’s start from the beginning, this seems to be the final result.” 

Seán nods and starts explaining everything with the most details he can remember, from the dreams to his fainting episode. The therapist looks taken aback, admitting that she’s never had a case like this one, but she still hopes the sessions will help him go through this weird period. 

B̷̪͑u̷͓͋ẗ̶̘ ̸̪͌h̵͉̅ẽ̷͚ ̶̙̍d̷̘̅ỏ̵͇é̸̙s̸̥̎n̶͉͆'̵̝̃t̵͈́ ̷̙͝l̵͇̔i̷̐ͅŝ̶̜t̷̫́e̶̲͝n̵̬̄,̶͖͝ ̶̫͊d̷̩̂ö̴̭́e̸̫̚s̵̖̑ ̷͎͆h̴̠͛e̸̥̿?̴͙ ̶͎̚Í̴͙ ̴͍͊t̴̹̔r̷̺̈́i̶̬̚e̷͕͗d̸̝̒ ̵̠́t̸̡͘o̵̻͊ ̴̨̍t̴̯͝e̸͚̔ĺ̵̘l̴͇̐ ̸̪̑ḧ̵͖ȉ̷͜m̵̱̈́,̶͉̽ ̶̞̿t̵̤̃o̴̻͊ ̴̺ẃ̷͇ą̸̈r̸̲̿ń̷͖ ̶̭̄h̶̛̦i̷̞͘m̸̛͖.̴̝͆.̷̦̔.̵͖̌I̵̟'̵̭̑ḿ̶̺ ̵̦̅n̴̬͑o̸̜̕t̷͙̓ ̶̺͒g̶̛͕o̸ͅȋ̶͕n̶͕̽g̸̟̉ ̶͙̎a̵̦͆ẅ̷̝́ă̷̙ÿ̸̢́,̵͓͗ ̸̬̃N̷̖̈E̵͕̾V̸̩̌E̷̟̎R̴͓͊!̴̠͝

The session ends. Seán feels better? He’s not sure himself, but it’s the first time, they have a long way to go. And he hopes that after so many years, the doctor Jefferson will be able to help him swim out of this mess. 

T̸h̷e̴ ̶m̸e̴t̸a̷l̵l̸i̷c̵ ̴t̶a̶s̴t̵e̷ ̵o̸f̵ ̶t̴h̷e̶ ̵b̶l̸o̴o̴d̴ ̴l̷i̶n̷g̴e̶r̷s̴ ̸o̵n̸ ̸h̸i̷s̸ ̵t̴o̴n̷g̷u̶e̷,̷ ̷a̷n̵d̵ ̵i̷t̴'̷s̶ ̷n̴e̴v̶e̶r̶ ̷g̴o̸i̶n̷g̶ ̶a̶w̶a̵y̴.̵ ̴N̴o̴ ̶a̷m̴o̷u̶n̴t̸ ̷o̸f̴ ̸w̶o̶r̷d̵s̸.̶.̸.̸

Seán feels himself smiling, but he’s not entirely sure why. 

The ride home feels peaceful, and it looks like this is the start of a long awaited healing process. 

Seán doesn’t spend more time than necessary in his living room, soon going for a well deserved sleep. 

But as much as he wants sleep, sleep doesn’t seem to need him. 

T̶h̸e̵ ̶s̸t̸i̸c̵k̶i̴n̸e̸s̷s̵ ̵o̸f̸ ̸t̵h̸e̷ ̶b̵l̸o̶o̷d̵,̵ ̴t̶h̴e̴ ̷k̵n̴i̷f̷e̴ ̴d̵i̸v̵i̵n̷g̴ ̶d̶e̸e̵p̴e̸r̵ ̸i̶n̷t̴o̶ ̵t̸h̴e̵ ̷w̴o̷u̵n̵d̸.̷.̴.̶ ̵▓̴̷̵̷̶̪͑▓̵̵̴̴̸̶̷̶̴̵̶̴̶̶̶̢̨̤̱̖̻͆̆͗̊̏͐▓̷̴̵̶̴̶̵̶̶̹͒̒̈́̉ỏ̶̷̶̸̴̵̴̷̶̷̷̯̫̠̈́̃̍̕ḋ̶̸̶̵̵̴̵̵̰̇̋͝▓̷̷̴̴̷̶̸̴̷̴̷̷̵̸̡̢͍̜̮̀̊̇̾̔̀ ̷̷̷̷̴̴̧͂͘ỉ̴̷̵̸̴̸̸̶̵̶̢̿̿̌́͘s̴ ̴w̷̶̷̴̸̸̷̵̸̸̵̛̱̖̞̐̐̀̃▓̸̷̵̴̷̷̷̵̸̶̷̷̻̞͙̒̓͂͜͝͝▓̶̷̶̸̷̸̶̵̷̠̥̞͓͛̕▓̷̴̸̸̶̶̷̵̵̴̷̴̵̴͕͚̲̣̭͊͋̀͐͒̓

Seán is waken up by a high-pitched scream, coming directly from his own throat. 

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**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy, next chapter coming...one day-


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